Love Games
by Sweetly Sarcastic
Summary: He was a Tetris piece. She was the Queen of Hearts, stuck in never-ending games of Solitaire games. He loved her desperately, but knew no one could ever love a lowly little Tetris piece. Possibly the most ridiculous things I have ever written.


Late one night after far too much sugar and Harry Potter (although, really, there is no such thing), my friend decided to tell her boyfriend about . She told him about the variety of things on the site, and he was intrigued, and rightfully so. "What are crossovers?" He asked. "Do people really write about Tetris? Do people really write about solitaire?"

So in response to this interesting but unstated challenge, I decided to write a solitaire/tetris crossover. This was rather problematic as I have never played tetris, but I figured it out. Anyway, enjoy this rather crappy little one-shot if you can.

Dedicated to he-who-is-cute-but-must-not-be-named, or, more simply, you-know-who. Also, wallflowerxiii is adorable.

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_**Love Games**_

He was a tetris piece, a miserable, lonely, sad little Tetris piece. He hated being olive green; no one liked olive green, not even him. It was a color that only a mother could love, and he had no mother, and so no one loved him.

Even worse than being olive green was being part of TETЯIS The Soviet Mind Game. No one liked Soviets, not even him. Being olive green was a lamentable fate, but survivable, maybe, if his prospects of being happy hadn't been rudely trampled like peasants under Soviet invading forces.

And so no one loved him. No one cared when he saved the game, and no one cared when he lost it. No one had even cared enough to _name_ him, and so he spent his life as a pawn in someone else's game, being only that, a nameless, faceless pawn. He was nothing, and no one loved him.

But oh, how he loved.

He first saw her in another tab on the computer when his master's sister began to play her own game. She was beautiful, even as she faced her graceful head away from him. She was the Red Queen of Hearts, the most majestic card on the card deck, the most captivating, poetic woman of all. He watched in muted horror as the sister placed her with the Black King of Spades; no one would ever be good enough for her, he knew, but she surely deserved more than the dirty imposter of a monarch. He had never hated anyone more.

He yearned to catch another glimpse of her in game after dreary game. His heart soared in his inexistent chest when he caught glances of her pretty face, forever turned away from him, forever out or his reach and out of his league. He yearned for her tragically, fatally, desperately.

He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he would die for her, that he would live for her, but their meetings were also brief, and of course, Tetris pieces cannot speak. He knew that ever if cards could speak, she would never deign to speak to him anyway, and so he watched for her forever, forever captivated.

He wondered what she thought about. He wondered what she liked to do in her spare time. He wondered what the other side of her head looked like. He passed months caught in dreary games with an inept master who still lost more than he won after months of training, and thought of her only. He nearly drove himself mad with want to know more about her. He wanted to shout, to cry, to release his emotions, but he was stuck in that horrid little box in that ghastly little shape, perpetually limited by his physical capabilities. He loathed himself for being Soviet and olive green and merely a Tetris piece and thus unworthy of her, and he loathed himself for being so emotionally incapable.

He loved deeply, earnestly, and no one loved him back.

He could have been with an equally unlovable olive green Tetris piece. They could have been miserable settling for each other, but after seeing her, he couldn't stomach the thought of being with anyone else, of pretending to feel a fraction of what he felt towards her towards anyone else. Lying intimately juxtaposed with other Tetris pieces not of his own volition was painful enough for him. Living began to feel like sin, and he despised his life only a little less than he despised those dirty, insensitive kings.

He would have gladly died a thousand times, and a thousand times again, if he could have been put out of his agony and yet still known that she would survive and be well and safe. It was another tragedy that he could not die, and he loathed his immortality and his miserable existence.

He did not notice as the computer got slower, plagued by bugs and viruses. He did not realize the physical abuse exacted on the poor laptop in the form of water damage and cracking screens. And so it came as a blissful surprise to him when one day the computer left the room he had come to hate and went to a factory to be disassembled and recycled.

And as they took the computer memory chip apart, he died a quick, easy death, miserably in love and with no idea that, despite being convinced that no one could ever love him, he was very much loved.

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I will now proceed to bang my head against a wall. Feel free to review. Or don't. And really, I think we both know that you won't. And really, yes, I am using reverse psychology. And really, yes, I should just shut up.


End file.
